Recognition
by Sirius7
Summary: Sometimes, the past comes back to bite you… and sometimes, it comes back to save your life.
1. Prologue

Recognition

Author: Sirius

Rating: T, for now. Let me know if you think it needs to go up.

Disclaimer: Shea, Stevie, Damien, Gabriel and Maggie are mine, but anyone you recognize from Airwolf belongs to Belisarius. The story is a crossover with Kung Fu: The Legend Continues (parts of that timeline have been moved up a touch to mesh with Airwolf, and some – well, a lot – of Kermit's background has been recreated by yours truly, because the show's not on DVD yet, and I can't remember everything, although I did find an episode online that confirmed Kermit's eyes are actually brown – strange, since I thought they were green). The KF: TLC characters likewise are not mine. This story may also end up being a crossover with as-yet-undetermined series later, in which case, the recognizable crossover characters also do not belong to me.

Timeline: This begins during the Airwolf Season Two episode, "The Hunted" (after Villers is shot down, but before the final scene at the Lake), with many references to a prior episode – "The Truth About Holly."

Author's Note: At the moment, the story and timeline are very rough, as the mutant muses aren't giving me the time to research everything that I should before even _thinking_ of putting words to paper (or computer screen). They're being quite insistent that I write the story now, and consoling me with thoughts that I can go back and fix mistakes later (they're completely ignoring the fact that I'd rather not make the mistakes in the first place). If you see any glaring inconsistencies – aside from the OCs that I add – let me know. Also, of note, I've given Cait a lot more background than just the stint with the Texas Highway Patrol – Aerial Division (particularly since, according the THP website, Texas Highway Patrol officers are not referred to as Deputies).

Summary: Sometimes, the past comes back to bite you… and sometimes, it comes back to save your life.

_Airwolf~~~Airwolf~~~Airwolf~~~Airwolf~~~Airwolf_

Prologue:

Cait woke suddenly, sitting straight up in bed, shuddering as she recalled the last moments of the dream. _Nightmare, O'Shannessy; call it what it is. And that's exactly how it ended, too._ The recent events of her first few weeks on the job at Santini Air had left a bad taste in her mouth, and touched off a few memories she would have preferred to leave buried.

_Holly McMathews_. Cait could honestly say that the girl hadn't been the first thought in her mind when she'd realized the helicopters had been sabotaged. It _had_ occurred to her that she might be the target, rather than Dom or Hawke… but none of her enemies were in any position to know she'd gone to L.A. As far as the Texas Highway Patrol was concerned, she was still on leave, though she'd be resigning from her position there shortly. No one on her 'watch list' from her life before the Highway Patrol would be able to track her to Texas, much less here, and they wouldn't choose to target her here even if they had. They'd want to send a message by taking her out on home ground, and in their minds, that would be somewhere that former co-workers couldn't fail to notice her corpse. Or so she'd thought, until Robert.

To be honest, Cait knew that the enemies she'd made throughout her career in law enforcement were the type to prefer shooting her if they wanted her gone; rigging a helicopter would be a waste of time to the likes of them. None of it surprised her. She'd known that being hunted by vengeful, vicious people was a distinct possibility when she joined up; the U.S. Marshals Service had made that painfully clear. They just hadn't prepared her for the concept of being betrayed by one of her own.

Cait stood and stretched, running a hand through her short, red hair, and wincing as her left shoulder notified her in its own special way that she had pushed things a little too hard lately. Her right wasn't much better, and she had the same person to thank for both injuries. Given recent events, she was inclined to think that he'd had a friend – or at least a stooge – she'd not known about.

With a rueful chuckle, she gave up any idea of going back to sleep, and set about getting ready to face a new day. She knew that if Santini did any kind of background check into his newest employee, he might wonder at her career choices, but she couldn't bring herself to care. For the moment, she contented herself with the knowledge that she was harder to kill than most of her enemies gave her credit for… whether those enemies consisted of a delusional girl with little chance of succeeding in her attempts to kill Cait… or an old friend who'd had much better odds.

_Airwolf~~~Airwolf~~~Airwolf~~~Airwolf~~~Airwolf_

TBC... The KF:TLC cross comes into play in the next chapter, if anyone's interested. I'm a little worried that where I'm going with this is not plausible in the slightest, even if the rabid plot-jackrabbits make it all sound so logical. Let me know if I'm going completely around the bend with this.


	2. Chapter 1

See Prologue for Disclaimer, Rating, and Author's Notes

Chapter 1:

The conference had gone off without a hitch, but Hawke couldn't forget that the trip _to_ the conference had been anything but smooth. And if he had a hard time forgetting, he could only imagine how Caitlin was dealing with it. She'd come in the past few days looking like she hadn't had a decent night's sleep since hearing Villers' voice over the radio, and that made him feel like he was missing something, some connection between Caitlin and Villers that made his betrayal harder for her to take than could be explained by a few dates.

Stringfellow Hawke looked up from where he'd been doing a little maintenance on the Jet Ranger, to cast another sideways glance in Cait's direction. It was strange, and more than a little unnerving to him, how quickly she'd manage to slip under his skin. He watched her straightening Dom's office and filing some paperwork – a task she'd adopted because Dom was notoriously bad at it, and he wasn't any better – and noticed that she seemed to be guarding her left shoulder. He'd done that himself with an injury a time or two, usually without realizing it until someone else pointed it out.

_How long has she been doing that? Villers didn't come close enough to do any physical harm, even if he messed with her in other ways. Did Holly hurt her by rigging those choppers? Or did those damn cowboys in Pope County manage to do some damage that I just didn't notice until now?_ Uneasy with that thought, Hawke put down his tools and walked toward Cait, all the while observing her closely.

"What do you need, Hawke?" Her softly-voiced question took him by surprise, given that there'd been no sign she knew he was there. He stayed silent for a moment, and Cait looked at him, a bit of what he could swear was irritation in her gaze.

Then she chuckled, breaking the tension. "I was a trained officer of the law, String. Still am, and a trained pilot, too, as you know darned well. Being unobservant in either case has an annoyin' tendency to lead to death, mayhem, and property damage. Most people consider those to be _bad _things. I _know_ when someone's watchin' me… or at least, I used to. What do you need?"

Despite his best intentions, Hawke could feel one corner of his mouth lifting in a reluctant grin. He _did _underestimate her, and freely admitted it, if only to himself. "Saw you favoring that shoulder," he said, gruffly. "How long you been doing that? Holly get a blow in, or was it one of those Pope County cowboys?"

Hawke watched in confusion as Cait's eyes darkened at some memory, and a mask slid across them. He knew what that meant when he saw it in the mirror, but where would Cait have earned that look?

She shook her head briefly. "Neither." Her answer was soft, her voice a little cooler than normal, and Hawke was sharp enough to realize that this answer _might_ be the only one he'd ever get. "The cowboys aggravated it, that's true enough, and the hard landing didn't help… but the injury's an old one. Just bothers me every now and then. It's not something that comes up in casual conversation and it doesn't affect how I fly. Didn't think it worth mentioning."

Hawke just looked at her for a moment, certain that whatever memory was behind that injury was painful and ugly… and far beyond anything he thought she'd seen when they met in that Pope County jail. It seemed there was more to Cait than he'd seen at first glance. The polite thing to do would be to return the favor she did him every time she left his past out of a conversation, but he wasn't sure if he could. Lives depended on Hawke trusting the right people, and _not_ trusting the wrong ones. He turned to head back to the Jet Ranger, for once unsure of himself and the course he should take. Then he paused and turned back again.

"Cait… you let me know if it starts bothering you a little too much. Santini Air's not life or death work – usually. No reason to push beyond what that shoulder can handle right now, you hear me?"

That spark of irritation was back again, and he almost grinned at the sheer feistiness of the woman before him. At the same time, he was glad the stubborn part of her personality didn't override the common sense. She was glaring at him even while agreeing with him, a reluctant, "I hear ya" passing through her lips.

The older pilot wanted to let things go on that lighter note… but the trained operative in him just couldn't let it rest. "What was going on with Villers?" He regretted his question almost as soon as he saw an answering flash of pain in her eyes. She visibly hesitated, and he thought for a moment that she'd refuse to answer.

"He was an old friend, Hawke… or so I thought. Now, seems like he might have been the cause of a lot of problems, instead. It's not a conversation I want to have here… or now. It'll keep until I figure things out. When I do, I'll let you know."

"You have a habit of not getting sleep while you think things over?"

"Most things, no. This is something else."

Hawke took a closer look at Cait, and couldn't help but notice the wariness in her eyes. He knew why it was there. Someone she'd trusted – apparently for quite some time – had tried to kill her. How, then, could she trust her instincts where _new _friends were concerned? How could she know they wouldn't betray her, too? It was a familiar feeling; he'd been there before, himself.

"Cabin's a good place to think. You're welcome to it, if you want." Cait, strangely quiet, just looked at him for a long moment. For the first time in his life, Hawke felt as though he was looking at someone with the ability to see into his very soul… what little of it was left. He wasn't sure how he felt about that, but whatever Cait saw, she seemed to accept and approve.

"All right. Can't guarantee how much I'll be able to tell you, but it'll give me a chance to think. I'll make a couple calls before we head out, though. I need to check a few things."

Hawke looked at her, nodding once more in acceptance, and offered a gesture of trust by moving far enough that he wouldn't be able to pick up her end of the conversations, even with his exceptional hearing.

_Airwolf~~~Airwolf~~~Airwolf~~~Airwolf~~~Airwolf_

Cait watched Hawke walk away, and when she was sure he was far enough away that he wouldn't hear anything, even inadvertently, she closed her eyes for a moment. She took a deep breath while making her next decision, before giving in and calling someone she'd never had reason to doubt. Even if the world was falling down around her, this man would remain a constant.

"_Griffin."_

"Hey, Green Knight. Can you work a little magic for me?"

"_Hi, Firecracker. What do you need?"_

"How are your for… touchy, governmental issues?"

"_Clearance is as high as it ever was. You need something sensitive, but you don't know if you can trust channels?"_

"Got it in one. I need some financials from a few years ago. Villers, Robert."

"_Villers… Christ, kiddo. You think he was the mole."_ Cait knew he wasn't asking.

"Didn't before. Do now. I need to know, one way or the other, and you know the cardinal rule of investigating as well as I do… always follow the money."

"_Done and done, Catie. I'll get them to you by way of someone I trust. I worked with him back in the day, but don't let that put you off. He's solid."_ By that, Cait knew that this was someone Kermit had worked with during his Intelligence or mercenary days… probably Intelligence. Most of his former mercenary 'friends' were dead… or would be, if Kermit ever saw them again.

"I'll take your word for it. I'm presuming he knows the proper way to identify himself?"

"_Always. I don't leave those things to chance, kiddo. Fair warning, next time I come down to see you, I'm checking out those two you work with now."_

"It's my life, Frog Prince. Don't interfere too much, or I'll start remembering who it was that taught me just as much as Da about defending myself… and all those lovely little tricks you drummed into me that can just as easily be used against you."

"_Heard and acknowledged, Firecracker. Keep in touch."_

"Will do. See you soon, Kermit."

She set the phone down long enough to sever the connection so she could make a second call… this one, to her old boss.

_Airwolf~~~Airwolf~~~Airwolf~~~Airwolf~~~Airwolf_

Later that evening, Cait was standing on the dock at Hawke's cabin, staring out at the lake and dwelling – far too much, she knew – on everything that had happened in the past few weeks. Despite brushing off Dom's attempts to cheer her up, she did appreciate it; she just didn't want to try getting to sleep yet. If she did, she wouldn't sleep long… although, there was something about this place that was very soothing… and strangely familiar.

Hawke's attempts to bring a smile to her face succeeded to a point, and she found his music calming. "Thanks, Hawke."

She saw one corner of his mouth twitch up in an almost-smile, and there was a moment before he spoke. "Ready to come in now?"

"Yeah. It's getting a little chilly for this Texas girl."

She let Hawke usher her into the cabin and settled herself on the floor by the fire, finding Tet's head in her lap in very short order. Cait had no objection to this, and cheerfully indulged the hound's wish for some attention with a good scratch behind the ears. Sliding back until she was leaning against the couch – Tet moving with her the whole way – she rested her head on the couch cushions and closed her eyes.

She couldn't remember the last time she'd felt this comfortable around anyone, though she'd lay odds it was probably when her team was still in one piece. Their faces flashed in her mind, living, laughing… and then, gone. _Damn you, Robert. Why'd you have to bring their ghosts with you?_ Those memories and a thousand others tore at her, and she forced her tired eyes open, knowing that Hawke and Dom were still watching her… and just not caring.

Tet brought her back to the present by nudging her hand for a little more attention. Moving her face closer to his ears as she scratched his ears again, she whispered to him that he was a good dog. _I'm so tired of this, but much as I trust Hawke and Dom, they're not my team. I can't lean on them, yet. Might not lean on them ever. Sometimes, I think Hawke might have the right idea. Easier not to let too many people get too close. Hell, who am I kidding? I _like _people. Shutting myself away from them would hurt me more than lettin' them in. And I did get the okay to tell them some things, if they ask again._

"Caitlin?"

"Yeah, Dom."

"You sure you don't want to talk, kiddo?"

Cait smiled a bit, helpless against the force of nature that was Papa Bear Santini. "Wouldn't even know where to begin, Dom. But I do have a question for you. Exactly how young do you think I am?"

"I didn't look that close at your license when I was finishing the paperwork to set you up as an employee, kid. But, considering you hadn't been with the Highway Patrol all that long… twenty-two, twenty-three?"

This time the sound that escaped Cait was more of a rueful chuckle than anything else. "Not hardly, Dom. I hadn't been with the THP long – only a few months – but that job wasn't my first rodeo. Try twenty-nine. I did a five-year stint with the Marshals, which is why I started to introduce myself to Hawke as 'deputy' when we first met. 'Deputy Marshal' was a job title a lot more familiar to me than just 'officer.' I'm actually kinda surprised you didn't catch that, Hawke. THP doesn't have deputies."


	3. Chapter 2

See Prologue for Disclaimer, Rating and Author's Notes

A/N 2: Fair warning. This chapter's long (nearly 5,000 words) and very angsty. It does contain descriptions of the deaths of law enforcement officers (though, not in as much detail as an R-rated movie). If such descriptions bother you, you may want to skip this chapter, and I'll try to recap at the beginning of the next one. Also, some of the details about the Marshals have been researched, while others I have pulled out of thin air to suit the story.

_Airwolf~~~Airwolf~~~Airwolf~~~Airwolf~~~Airwolf_

Chapter 2:

_The shoulder,_ was Hawke's first thought, as he carefully ignored Cait's teasing little dig about what he should and shouldn't have noticed. He now knew without having to ask for specifics that the injury happened while she was with the Marshals. That she was hurting was blindingly obvious to him, but she wasn't letting them see any more than she could help. String knew she didn't want to share that pain yet, stubborn enough to try and handle everything on her own. Then again, Hawke wasn't one to call her on something he did himself, though there was something so vibrant about her that he didn't want her going down his path. Part of her would die if she tried to shut everyone out… like part of him already had.

'_An old friend,' she said. Aw, damn_. His voice was soft when he spoke. "Villers was a Marshal, wasn't he?"

The laugh that escaped her spoke volumes to Hawke about her pain. "He watched my back for three of those five years, Hawke. And now, I have to deal with the suspicion that he's part of the reason I _buried_ most of the rest of my team. Those calls I made before we headed up here… those were me asking questions that no one thought to ask before. Questions we didn't ask, because it didn't even occur to us that a member of our own team might be sellin' us out, particularly since he was the first one shot by that nutcase. I still don't know for certain, won't until I get some answers… but given that Robert tried to kill me just the other day… Let's just say, I won't be as surprised now as I would have been then, and a lot of things are more easily explained than they used to be, if Robert turning on us was the missing piece to the puzzle."

She fell silent, and Hawke glanced toward Dom, seeing the growing anger in the older pilot's eyes. String shook his head to clear it of a few old ghosts, and took a seat on the couch, close enough to where Cait rested to offer comfort if she wanted it… not so close as to make her feel she'd been backed into a corner. In the quiet, he mentally reviewed everything that had happened in the short amount of time he'd known Caitlin. If she'd been accustomed to working with a team – and then that team suddenly was gone – a lot of her actions started to make a bit more sense. He couldn't even manage to offer a protest to her more reckless choices at the moment, because there was nothing in him to say he wouldn't do… or _hadn't_ done… the same kinds of stupid things when he came back from 'Nam without Saint John. This was a pain he recognized and understood all too well.

Hawke waited in silence, watching as her fingers traced a path behind Tet's ears. He was used to silence… but not from her, and not from Dom, and at the moment, the only sound in the cabin was the crackling fire. It made him uneasy, but it wasn't up to him to break it now. The next step had to be Cait's.

The next words she spoke were in a rasping whisper, and Hawke saw Dom move closer so that he could hear. "First two years in – after training – were as a pilot, prisoner transfer flights… we called 'em 'Con Air.' I had the dubious honor of escortin' some of the most disgustin' examples of humanity you'd ever hope to avoid. In training, our instructors hadn't hesitated to give us examples of how our families could be threatened because of what we do, and who we come in contact with, and they went over ways to minimize what risks there were. I did what I could. Dyed my hair dark. Asked for and obtained permission to use my grandmother's maiden name, instead of O'Shannessy, which was a little too unusual, and easier to track than I liked. Dropped the Texas accent for a touch o' Ireland. Since I used it all five years, it's just as easy to slip into now as that Texas drawl."

Hawke could see a bit of a smile on Cait's face, and presumed that there were some happy memories in those first two years somewhere. Cait took a deep breath, and kept petting Tet, with no objection whatsoever from the hound, who had his eyes closed in what Hawke could only assume was utter contentment.

Hawke moved to the hearth and crouched to add another log to the fire, watching as it crackled and the firelight played over what he would have considered a serene image under other circumstances – beautiful woman sitting on the floor by the family dog, father figure leaning against the couch. It'd be downright homey if he didn't suspect that Cait was reliving more than a few memories of what was probably her own little slice of hell. He looked to Dom just in time to see the older pilot start to say something, and shook his head quickly. _Now is not the time to push… not when she's actually talking, even if it is more slowly than usual._ Dom shot him a glare that let Hawke know he didn't appreciate being 'shushed,' but other than that, took it with good grace. Hawke wasn't sure how long that would last.

Straightening, Hawke moved to the bar and poured a glass of wine for Cait, shoving back the momentary thought that she may actually prefer something with a higher alcohol content – like whisky. He wanted to ease the tension a little, not run the risk of getting her drunk.

When he returned to the couch, Cait took the drink from him with a nod of thanks, sipped at it for a few moments, and continued on. "The three years after that were with WitSec… Witness Protection and Relocation. Sometimes we guarded the witnesses during the trials and set up new lives for them after; sometimes, we just took over security after the trial from whatever federal agency had been handlin' it prior to that and set them up somewhere else, as _someone_ else. Most Deputy Marshals who are with WitSec… they get some witnesses who are entirely innocent people, and some who are scuzzballs who only trust Feds because doing so is better than endin' up dead when their bosses find out what they're up to. My team, though, we were special. For one, we _were _a team. Typically, Marshals would work in pairs, not packs, but our bunch… we were different. We were a team of seven Deputy Marshals, each of us with a very unique skill-set, gathered together for one purpose. We only, ever, protected witnesses who were _children_. Terrified, traumatized, extraordinarily _courageous_ children, who had targets on their backs, and were well aware of it. Forty-three children and their families… or what was left of them by the time their protection fell to us. All kept safe, all watched over and given new names and new homes where they couldn't possibly be found again. Three years with my team, and barely more than a scratch between the seven of us. It could have made us arrogant. It could have made us cocky and overconfident. It didn't. Jack never let us forget that one slip-up could mean the death of a witness… or a team-mate. If we weren't on an active case, we were in the gym or at the range. Firearms qualifications and close-quarters combat… not too much different from my childhood."

A ghost of a smile touched her face, but was slowly replaced by a shadowed look in her eyes, and tears sliding down her cheeks that she didn't appear to notice. Hawke caught the tipping wine glass before it could slip completely from her hand and break, placing it on the coffee table. He heard and temporarily ignored Dom's whispered, anguished "_Mamma Mia"_ as he gently wiped Cait's tears away. The blank look in her eyes was entirely too familiar to him, and he wondered exactly how much raw pain that bubbly exterior had hidden.

Cait blinked, and rested her head for just a moment against his shoulder before straightening up, taking a deep breath, and visibly shoving the pain back again. "Forty-four was not our lucky number. It wasn't in the slightest the fault of the witness, though there's nothing I've been able to say that could convince the poor kid of that. Kiddo was a lot like you, actually, Hawke… still is, as far as I know. Musician, borderline genius, and utterly _fascinated _with anythin' that flies. We introduced ourselves when we first took over the case. Kiddo looked at us and said, 'Please, for your own sake, just walk away. You don't know him. You can't fight him, and everyone who's ever tried to protect me has paid for it. He can make a kill-shot from half a mile away, and be long gone before anyone can figure out where the shot came from. Just _walk away_. I don't want any more people dying because of me.' Even given everything that happened after that, I wouldn't change anything my team did to protect that kid. 'Walk away' wasn't in our vocabulary, and I am _damn_ proud of that."

Hawke hadn't moved from his position, crouched in front of Cait. Dom had soft-footed around the couch and taken a seat while Cait was talking, and Tet was snuggling up close, to offer what comfort he could. Hawke knew the tale would only get uglier from here, but he would have enjoyed meeting her team. _Other than Villers, seems like they were good people. Far as she was concerned, they were _family, _and that's still a gaping wound. What little might have been scabbing over before, Villers just ripped back open. I wish I could shoot him down again._

"Cait, you don't have to do this."

"Yeah, Hawke, I do. I can't tell you everything. I can't name any of the witnesses; I can't even mention age or gender… but I can remember my team with you. I was cleared to tell it, and the two of you've been cleared to hear it, by the only two people who knew me _then_ that I still trust unconditionally _now_. My gut says I can trust you and Dom… but after what happened with Robert, I needed a bit more than my gut to go on. And, instinct or no, I _did_ still need to get the okay to tell you. Hell, Hawke, you and Dom were both military. Same basic rules apply here. Too many lives depend on me not screwin' up… and on keepin' my life with the Marshals completely separate from anything I do now. If I hadn't gotten the clearance, I couldn't have kept workin' for Santini Air, not if you were gonna push for answers. The secrets I keep protect people who can't protect themselves, Hawke, and I couldn't risk anyone gettin' those secrets outta me… no matter how much I wanted to stay."

_Hell, this explains a lot. She's not afraid of me, never has been, even though most people with sense are when they realize they've been asking questions I don't want to answer. She may push for information on the Lady, but never too much, always backs off when we say 'What helicopter?' even though she knows perfectly well I'm Airwolf's pilot. And no matter how fascinated she is by the Lady – what pilot isn't? – she'd shelve that curiosity and back away in a fraction of a heartbeat to keep the oaths she's already made. But she didn't come here looking for Airwolf, not really. She wants a team again. She wants to keep protecting people with _someone she trusts _at her back. _

_Airwolf~~~Airwolf~~~Airwolf~~~Airwolf~~~Airwolf_

_Oh boy, kiddo, when you bury pain, you bury it deep. String holds on to his, keeps it close like his best friend, but you… Cait, you lock it behind a door, and cover that door up with pretty pictures, but you're bleeding inside every bit as much as he is. _Dom looked at the two younger pilots and wondered what else he'd missed about this newest employee of his… newest family member, if he was reading things right. Despite String's talent for pushing people away, he hadn't been able to do it with Caitlin. Dom had seen the connection between them almost from the first moment he'd laid eyes on the red-headed cop… and noticed where String was looking. And he knew trouble was heading their way when that same cop had somehow _known_ who was flying the Lady… even if String had said she was just guessing. She'd slid right past those walls his boy had up, and Dom wasn't sure there'd be any keeping her out now; he didn't think he wanted to.

Dom shared a quick look with String, knowing that they'd be having a chat of their own a little later, before turning his attention back to Cait. It was easy for him to see that she was having trouble finding the right words, and even for the short amount of time he'd known Cait, _that_ was unusual. He'd never seen her at a loss for words until this mess with Villers… though, now that he thought about it, she'd said a lot without really _saying_ much, all things considered. Until tonight, he'd known next to nothing about her past. He hadn't asked, and for all the talking she'd done, she hadn't actually volunteered any family information, and sure as shootin' hadn't said anything about her time in the Marshals. Though, he could understand that last bit.

_She's still being cautious, because she never knows who might be in a position to overhear the wrong bit of information… and why in the name of all that's holy am I thinking like Archangel?_

Looking at Cait, he noticed that she'd closed her eyes, maybe battling back the memories, maybe deciding that she didn't want to do this anymore after all… he didn't know. "There were seven of us," Cait said, eyes still closed. "We buried four. For understandable reasons, I highly doubt there'll be enough left of Villers to bury, and I'm not at all certain I'd actually want to be at his funeral, if there was. He was the first one taken down by my _favorite_ nutcase, a bullet to the knee that made certain he'd never be cleared for field work again. It took the rest of us by surprise in some ways. We'd been expecting a sniper, but Villers… Robert… wasn't exactly in a leadership position on our team, so we never could understand why he was the first one taken out. And then it was quiet… weeks where there was nothing. No anonymous tips, no fortunate glimpses, not even a note from the slimeball gloating about how he'd gotten the drop on us."

She took a deep breath, and Dom noticed her hand reaching… whether for the empty wine glass or something else, he wasn't sure. Then String moved just enough to take hold of that hand, and her fingers tightened around his for just a moment, before she opened her eyes and started in again. She didn't let go of his hand, and he didn't pull away. "Robert worked his way up to crutches during those quiet weeks, and talked Jack – our team leader – into letting him get back in the game from the office. He could help coordinate communications, run background checks – heck, he even offered to do our paperwork for us. Anything would do, so long as it was work and he could keep busy. And since it's the exact same thing any of the rest of us would have said, we swallowed it – hook, line, sinker. Equals dead fish."

"And since he was working communications and part of your team…"

"Yeah, Dom. He knew exactly where we were and what we were doing, every moment of every day. We weren't the only Marshals protecting this particular witness, since the case involved some high-profile names, but apparently only our team was considered a threat by the sniper. I've been told I should think of it as a compliment. Well, actually, I've been told that three times… once by said nutcase, and twice by men I respect. Seems if people want to kill us, it means we're doin' something right."

"Jack was next, after weeks with no hint of any trouble. Bastard didn't kill him, but Jack's got a permanent set of wheels, now, and it was a long while before he could wrap his mind around that. Thank God for Shannon, who finally managed to convince the stubborn Jarhead that she'd rather have a husband in a chair than no husband at all. We stayed on the case, in direct contradiction of policy and procedure, and probably anything resembling common sense. Our team was down two field-capable officers, neither of whom would ever _be _field-capable again, one of whom would never _walk_ again. The rest of us, stubborn, noble idiots that we were, weren't about to trade the kid off to another protection detail and slip off with our tails between our legs. What I didn't quite get is why we were _allowed _to stay. It wasn't really our call, and we could have been _ordered _off… but that order never came. Of course, in defense of our Supervisory Deputy Marshal… he might have realized we'd stick with the case against orders if we had to. Maybe he just figured reprimanding an entire team wouldn't really be worth the trouble. I don't know, and I never had the chance to ask."

"Sniper got him, too?"

"Not that I know of, Hawke, although the car accident that killed him was rather suspiciously timed. His death was… closer to the end, though. Quinn was taken out after Jack. He was the oldest of the group, probably the best educated of us. He had a Doctorate in Child Psychology, with a focus on trauma victims, which is why he'd been brought on board. No lack of practical experience, either. He had five kids, two of them adopted from… less than ideal situations. Quinn was their anchor, and our team's resident Mother Hen. One shot, one kill, and he was the first to go to his grave. Current count at that point… one officer dead, team leader out of commission, and a second officer – unknown to the rest of us – apparently a traitor. Three more to go."

Out of the corner of his eye, Dom caught sight of the clock, but didn't breathe a word at how much time had passed since he'd first tried to get Cait to come inside, so much earlier in the evening. Nothing short of gunfire would make him interrupt Cait now.

"Vasily was next. He was the American-born son of Russian immigrants, a natural polyglot, could pick up languages like you wouldn't believe. He usually acted as our translator whenever the witness or family members didn't speak a lot of English. Sniper took him out on his day off. Vasily had taken his little boy to the amusement park, figured the sniper wouldn't come after him in a crowd. One minute, he was making sure Dmitri didn't fall off his horse on the carousel. The next, no one could hear anything except a couple dozen screaming, terrified children."

"_Santa Maria_, he killed your buddy in front of his kid? In front of a whole bunch of kids? What kind of sicko was he?"

"Oh, Dom, this nutcase is in a league all his own. And he wasn't done with us, yet. After Vasily fell, we made arrangements for our witness, put the new identities in the system… and I took the kiddo and the rest of the family to their new home. And now, I realize the only reason we likely stayed in the air is because _no one_ knew we were leavin' that night except Mason, our team's second in command. We knew there was a leak somewhere, just not where. We didn't suspect Robert because he was Team, one of _ours_. However, we couldn't say for sure that our communications system wasn't sufferin' an… infestation, you might say. So, we didn't run the plan through Communications, and didn't mention it to Robert because of the chance he might be overheard. I saw the family settled somewhere no one would know to look for them, and no paper trail between the old lives and the new. No one could track them unless they deliberately gave someone their real names… and none of the family members were likely to make that slip. By the time I got back, Mason was gone. A head-shot, like the others, when he was heading up the walk to his front door. The shot came from behind, and the exit wound took a fair portion of his face with it. His… was a closed-casket funeral. And then there were two."

Cait's face was pale – more than usual – and the strain was beginning to tell on her. Dom could almost see those grisly images flash in front of her eyes, like they had been for him. He'd seen bodies of soldiers that had been killed like her team second, and he'd never forget it… just like he knew _she_ never would, and he wouldn't have wished that on her for anything in the world.

"The witness was safe and hidden from the world, until such time as the sniper could be _caught_ for the kid to testify against him. He wasn't so much the type of criminal that _hired _killers, as the type that preferred to do the dirty work himself. And he was… as we'd seen… quite good at it. Our team was down to Jack – who, at that moment, was still wishing the nutcase had killed him outright – Robert, still in Communications, myself, and Jordan. Jordan was the one who had arranged the identities and the backgrounds. The minute he slipped them into the system, courtesy of the DOJ, they became legitimate. Entirely legal identities, deeply and perfectly back-stopped, both in terms of electronic and paper records, even sometimes making sure the family members were put into new 'editions' of the appropriate school yearbooks. Jordan died the same as the others… bullet to the head, in front of family. In this case, his wife of less than four months. And then there was one."

"Your shoulder." Dom's head snapped up at the softly-spoken phrase that had slipped from String. _Her shoulder? What's wrong with Cait's shoulder? And how does String know about it… more importantly, why didn't _I_?_

"Yeah. I was turning over every rock I could to find that snake, though the odds weren't exactly in my favor, and by this point, my search was off the books. The Supervisory Marshall had all but put me in protective custody myself… or tried to, anyway. I was… less than polite in tellin' him what I thought of that idea. I was expecting that the sniper would make a play for me soon, but I wasn't expecting what he actually _did_. Sometime after Jordan's death, he realized that the witness had been moved… and that there was only one person who knew where that witness was. He couldn't kill me, because I had information he wanted, information he had every intention of making me tell him whether I wanted to or not."

Cait paused and glanced around the room for a moment. Dom, following her gaze, realized that she was making note of the cabin's exits. Whether that was because she was partially lost in the past, or because the re-telling made her feel the need for some air, he couldn't tell, but he wasn't about to blame her for either one. She had more than enough ghosts in her past to fuel nightmares for the rest of her life. Cait gently moved Tet to the side, and moved to get to her feet. Hawke, still holding her hand, gained his feet first and pulled her up beside him, steadying her for a moment when she realized her leg had fallen asleep. She moved through the front door of the cabin and took a seat on the porch steps, shivering slightly in the cool night air, but not showing any indication of wanting to go back in anytime soon.

Hawke sat next to her, throwing an arm over her shoulders and drawing her to his side, and it was only then that Dom noticed what String likely already had. Cait was heading towards shock. _Aw, no, don't tell me she's never talked about this with _anybody _before? Oh, you stupid old man, of course she hasn't. Everyone she would have been able to talk about this with was already gone, except for her Team Leader. And Cait, being Cait, wouldn't have wanted to bother him with it._ The realization did nothing but make him worry more, particularly when Cait started to talk again, her voice seeming a mere echo of her normal self.

"I was given mandatory leave at that point. It was expected, but probably would have happened earlier, if we hadn't been in the middle of a case. I took it – didn't have much of a choice – but kept turning over rocks on the sly. There was nothing. Went to the cemetery to visit the guys… next thing I know, I'm on the ground with a 9-mm round in my right shoulder. I got back to my feet; I'm not sure how. I don't really remember as much as I should. I saw his face, knew who he was… and as soon as he started talking, knew he didn't think I was a threat. He hadn't done his homework. My team-mates had all been military, before becoming law enforcement. I hadn't and he knew that… but he hadn't tracked down my teachers, and had no idea how long I'd been learning to defend myself. He thought it would be _easy_ to learn what he wanted to know. I had a roundhouse kick that said otherwise… just for a start. The next thing I remember, he was on the ground with my knee on his throat, but _he_ wasn't done yet, either. He had a knife, which did a fair bit more damage to my left shoulder than his bullet had done to the right. He walked toward me. My hand found his gun. I remember having every intention of firing. I remember startin' to squeeze the trigger. And then back-up showed, at just the right moment to _prevent _me from giving that cop-killin' bastard a terminal case of lead poisoning. Next thing I know, I'm in the hospital staring down a long stretch of rehab before I can get either arm to work the way it's supposed to, and the bastard's in a SuperMax. The trial went well. He's currently on death row in that same SuperMax, convicted on several counts of first-degree murder of a law enforcement officer – local, state, and federal. Apparently, he's not very picky about his targets, so long as they're law enforcement."

Cait's voice trailed off into nothing and her shivering grew worse. She leaned into Hawke, and Dom looked at him over her head. The worry in Hawke's eyes was easy for Dom to read, and he was pretty darn sure he had that same look on his own face. String got to his feet, bringing Cait up with him, and walked her into the cabin, Cait working on autopilot. Wherever she was, it wasn't here.

"You need a hand, String?" He deliberately kept his voice soft, even though he didn't think Cait was hearing much of anything at the moment. Hawke shook his head, walking with Cait up the stairs to the loft, and Dom just let it go. He knew String could be a ladies man when he was of a mind, but also knew him better than to think there was any chance of him trying anything with Cait, especially when she was like this.

He wasn't surprised when he heard String start to speak, though the familiar voice was too soft for Dom to make out the words. He settled into the chair by the fire, and just listened as that voice went on in a soothing cadence for what seemed like hours, but likely wasn't. In time, a new sound interrupted the voice, a painful, broken sobbing that would cleanse the wound to Cait's heart… and start the healing.


	4. Chapter 3

See Prologue for Disclaimer, Rating, and Author's Notes.

A/N: As no one ever definitively placed _Kung Fu: The Legend Continues_ in any particular city (though there was much debate over it), for the purposes of this story, I've placed "Sloanville" near Seattle.

Chapter 3

It was nearing 3 am before Dom heard the sound of footsteps, and looked to see String coming down the stairs from the loft. The older pilot kept his voice soft on purpose, though lack of sleep would have helped in those efforts regardless of his intentions. "How's she doing?"

"Sleeping, for now. Not sure for how long, though. And she wasn't kidding about the knife doing more damage than the bullet." Dom's head shot up at that, despite how well he knew String, and the younger Hawke quickly caught on to what he'd been thinking.

"Dom, you know me better than that. She changed into something a bit more comfortable to sleep in after she'd calmed down a bit – an oversize shirt. The neckline slipped over that left shoulder. Rehab on that joint would have taken months at least, probably the better part of a year or two. It was hurting this morning – yesterday morning, actually – though she didn't notice right away… and I don't think it's eased up any since then. She didn't want to oust me from my bed, either, but I convinced her to let me be a gentleman."

"Yeesh," Dom said, stretching for a moment to ease the ache in his back that always came when he sat too long in this particular chair… or tried to sleep on the ground. Sometimes, he thought he was getting too old for this, but he wasn't about to actually voice that thought… or risk giving up his Lady. "Cait says a lot without really saying much, if you know what I mean. I sure didn't know there was anything like this hiding behind those eyes."

"You and me both, Dom. Makes me _almost_ wish I hadn't pushed for answers yesterday morning on what had been going on with Villers."

"Almost, huh?"

Hawke sat down and rested his head in his hands, rubbing at his forehead in what Dom could only think was an attempt to get rid of an oncoming headache. "Yeah. Hell, Dom, you heard everything that happened tonight. She needed to talk to _somebody_. I'm just glad it was us, that she got the clearance to talk to us. I know she would have done just what she said she would if Jack had told her no. She would have walked away. And if I hadn't pushed for answers in the first place, she'd still have everything bottled up inside, with neither one of us knowing anything about it."

"Jack? Why were you thinking she talked to Jack?"

"He was her old team leader, Dom, and nothing she said mentioned him resigning from the Marshals… just that he's not field-capable anymore. Who else would she have called to get the okay on this?"

"Point. So… now what?"

"Hell, Dom, I honestly don't know. Think we should probably get what sleep we can. I know we can't have heard all of it – most, maybe, but not all – and it's going to be a long weekend." That much said, String stretched out on the couch and closed his eyes.

Dom shot one more look at the stairs to the loft, and closed his own eyes. The chair might not be the most comfortable thing in the world, but it wasn't the first time he'd fallen asleep in it, and he doubted it would be the last.

_Airwolf~~~Airwolf~~~Airwolf~~~Airwolf~~~Airwolf_

Some distance away, in a large office – complete with what would be a truly impressive set of windows, when the blinds were pulled back – a man answered a ringing phone, in his clipped, but polite manner. There were very few people that his aide knew he would speak with regardless of circumstances, and even fewer who had his direct number and could bypass his aide entirely. Surprisingly, the voice on the other end of the line did _not_ belong to someone he would have expected to ever take advantage of that knowledge, and that – even more than the time of day – was cause for at least a little worry.

"While I'm fairly certain you invent new ways to annoy me on a weekly basis, I've never known you to call this number at _any _time of day, much less the crack of dawn. How much trouble are you in?"

"_Not me, unfortunately. I shoot people who come after me; you know that. This requires a little more subtlety. I need a favor."_

"What kind of favor?" For all that those last words had made him more nervous than any other, he didn't let his voice betray him. There wasn't really anything to be concerned about. The man on the other end of the line wasn't known for needing help of any kind, particularly from those he didn't even consider friends, but he'd never ask anything of another that he wasn't willing to do himself.

"_I need a messenger I can trust, and my options are limited. Has to be you, because you have the well-tested ability to keep your mouth shut… and the wrong word to the wrong person might get someone killed."_

"And the reason you can't deliver the message yourself?"

"_I'm in the middle of something at the moment and really __**can't**__ get away, or I would."_

"And the nature of the message?" _I have a feeling I'm going to regret this, but I owe him several times over as it is._

"_Financials from a potential mole… no one connected to your group, in case you were wondering."_

"I wasn't, but thanks for the reassurance." He let a hint of sarcasm slip into his voice, then. He had no reason to distrust those in his department – at least at the moment – and even less to think the other man could find information on his people that _he_ didn't already know.

"_Will you?"_

"That depends. Who – and where – is the intended recipient?"

"_Caitlin O'Shannessy. She recently started working at Santini Air, but she's not there now. She called yesterday to let me know she'd be out of touch this weekend, up at a co-worker's place in the San Gabriel mountains, so the delivery may have to wait until Monday. I don't want this information left unattended on her porch or in her mailbox. Truth be told, I'm not all that happy about having to fax it to you in the first place, but if I was able to hand-carry it to you, I'd be able to hand-carry it to her."_

Though his heart had stilled for a moment at the mention of Santini Air, he was fairly certain that the other man hadn't picked up any tell-tale hesitation. As for the information… "Where are you now?"

"_Sloanville, up near Seattle. Why?"_

A smile tugged at his lips. "Sloanville's just a quick hop up the coast in a plane or helo. Do you think you could spare fifteen minutes out of your busy schedule and meet me somewhere? A cup of coffee between old friends, and no risk of the information going anywhere you'd rather it not."

"_Oh, yeah. That would work. There's a little deli on Third – Rosatti's. Call it coffee and a sandwich, if you can make it here by noon. My treat, since you're giving this favor even more of a personal touch than I asked for."_

"Done and done. I'll run your little errand, and you can answer a few questions over lunch." A few more quiet pleasantries passed between the two men, before a certain white-garbed spy put down the phone on his end and spent more than a few minutes wondering precisely how Dominic Santini's new pilot was associated with Kermit Griffin.

_Airwolf~~~Airwolf~~~Airwolf~~~Airwolf~~~Airwolf_

Cait woke to a rare, but familiar ache that was a remnant of her crying jag from the night before. _Ah, hell. Now what did I do?_ Given her training and the events of the last few years, she wasn't one to wake slowly, but as soon as she remembered what had happened and where she was, she had to fight the temptation to pull the blankets over her head and ignore the world for awhile.

_Hell, I knew I needed to talk, but did I have to tell them that much all at once? I know they have to have a ton of questions, besides... so, best to be up and about, I suppose. 'Soonest started, soonest done,' as Da always said. No point in delaying what you don't want to do, since you'll just have to do it later anyway. Nothing says I have to be happy about it, though. _

Despite Cait's mixed feelings over what she viewed as her breakdown the night before, she couldn't deny that it had done more than a little good. _Heck, even Jack said it was about damn time I talk to somebody about what happened... of my own free will, that is. Mandatory sessions with department psychologists don't count. And he checked out Dom and Hawke when I first started working here anyway, stubborn Jarhead._

Mental grumbling aside, she couldn't fault her old friend's caution. As she mentioned – very recently – to certain other pilots in the building, too many lives depended on the secrets they kept. As for why the talk had been here and now... the plain truth of the matter was that she was mentally and physically tired of dealing with everything on her own and had no wish to burden family any more than she already had; the only family member she _could_ tell had already known without her saying a word, anyway. And if she wanted to be completely truthful, something about this place – Hawke's cabin – seemed so familiar that she didn't feel the need to be on constant guard here. It was relaxing.

She grabbed a quick shower in the loft's bathroom and changed into some clean clothes. It wasn't until she was back in the loft bedroom and toweling her hair dry that she really started to look around, noting the warm tones of the hand-crafted wooden furniture, knowing that the bed frame at least had to have been carved with this cabin in mind, and appeared to have been made from the same type of wood as the cabin itself. The bedroom fireplace gave her the idea that perhaps this cabin had been here long before anyone would have thought to equip it with a generator. There was a sense of history about the place, but Cait didn't think that the cabin – no matter how sturdy, comfortable and defensible it was – had always been a full-time home. It suited Hawke, however, and seemed almost an extension of him. This home was unmistakably _his_ territory.

On her last look about the room before giving her hair a quick brush – ignoring the twinge from her shoulder – her eyes were drawn to a small series of family photos arranged on the mantle... one in particular. In it were three men; one was obviously a younger Dom, the second just as obviously Hawke's father, and the third...

_Da?_

TBC...


	5. Chapter 4

See Prologue for Disclaimer, Rating and Author's Notes

_Airwolf~~~Airwolf~~~Airwolf~~~Airwolf~~~Airwolf_

Chapter 4

A quick 'knock' on the stair railing outside the loft startled Cait enough to turn away from the picture. Still confused, she just called out a quick, "yeah" and turned back toward the fireplace mantle and its array of photographs. Some part of her knew she probably looked like hell, but she couldn't stop wondering how that photograph came to be. As Hawke entered the loft, she realized that she couldn't stop shaking, either.

"Hey, Cait... you look like you've seen a ghost. What happened?"

She couldn't say anything right away, just shook her head, and didn't look at him. It didn't surprise her when he came up and put an arm over her shoulders, tucking her next to his side. She remembered him doing that the night before as well, and didn't object. There'd always been something about Hawke that felt familiar, something that had let her know she could trust him, and Dom, too, and she hadn't been able to figure out what, but that photo... that photo could explain everything.

"I did, kind of... that photo over there. That's Dom on the left, I think." She felt Hawke's nod more than saw it. "Has to be your dad in the middle... looks too much like you to be anyone else. And I have to ask... his name didn't happen to be 'Alan,' did it?"

"Yeah, how did you...?" Hawke looked down at her, a slight suspicious look flashing in his eyes that she wished wouldn't be there... but it didn't surprise her.

"On the right," Cait said, her voice getting softer as she went on. "On the right is a man who went by the name 'Kincaid Brennan' during World War II. Most of his friends just called him 'Cade.' Brennan wasn't the name he'd been born with, but the name he'd been born with would have gotten his family into a load of trouble. There were a lot of people in his own home town that wouldn't have taken well to one of their good Irish boys fighting side-by-side with the Brits, instead of against them. They would have been even more outraged to learn that he'd made it into the SAS. He figured going by his ma's maiden name would be as good a way as any to keep that secret, to keep his parents and siblings safe. That man was my da, Hawke... and I'm pretty sure your dad's the one who taught him how to fly. Da always talked about his friend, Alan... but never once mentioned his last name. I don't understand, Hawke. Why wouldn't he have mentioned it? And how – in the name of all that's holy – did I meet _you_ in that damn jail?"

Very little made sense to Cait at the moment, and far too much had happened in too short a period of time. With no small amount of effort, Cait gathered all her scattered thoughts, slipped out from under Hawke's arm, loosened her death-grip on the hairbrush, and picked up the photograph that was the source of both her confusion... and possibly any number of answers she'd been seeking for quite some time.

"None of this makes any sense. I know my da, Hawke. If mine and yours were friends, there's _nothing_ that would have kept him from checking on your family. No reason I wouldn't have met you before Pope County, nothing Da wouldn't have done to find... your... how do I know you have a brother, and how do I know he's missing?"

_Airwolf~~~Airwolf~~~Airwolf~~~Airwolf~~~Airwolf_

Contrary to popular belief, many things had surprised Stringfellow Hawke at one point or another. What he'd just heard from Caitlin instantly catapulted to the top of the list, yet, strangely, his first thought had nothing to do with his brother or parents. '_Firearms qualifications and close-quarters combat… not too much different from my childhood,' she said. Well, a veteran of the SAS __**might**_ _be more likely to teach his little girl how to take care of herself, or at least be able to if he wanted. Hell, 'complicated' doesn't even __**begin**__ to describe this situation anymore._

He looked at Cait, _really_ looked at Cait, taking in the shaking hands with their white-knuckled grip on the photograph that started the latest bout of confusion, the face pale enough that every last freckle stood in sharp relief... and the pain. The pain in her eyes was unmistakable. Hawke _had_ known the third man in the photo, but hadn't seen him since his parents' funerals when he was ten, and he vaguely recalled some argument between that man and Dom. At the time, he wasn't thinking about much other than the fact that his parents were never coming home again. At that point, he hadn't even been entirely sure that he and Saint John would even _have _a home. Dom had had to reassure both the boys that they always had a place with him, that Alan and Cora Hawke had planned for the possibility of something happening before the boys were old enough to care for themselves. There was nothing and no one in this world either Hawke had loved so much as their children, and they wouldn't have left them with nowhere to turn.

Hawke remembered that the man – Cade – had had dark hair, but his eyes had been just like Cait's, warm and welcoming. And if his memory was to be trusted, he'd also been something of a prankster. Hawke thought he'd seen Cade push his dad into the Lake once, but he'd been without his parents for so long that he wasn't even sure he'd really, truly know what they looked like anymore, if he didn't have the photos to remind him. Neither could he completely trust his memories of a little red-headed imp with a sense of humor like her father's. How much of what was going through his mind was truth, and how much was his mental wondering of what _could_ have been?

At the moment, though, his focus wasn't on the girl he might have known, but the woman who stood before him. The part of him that had been trained by – and worked with – several of the best operatives in the business was understandably suspicious, but he had yet to meet _anyone_ who could fake the kind of reaction Cait was having to that photo. He could only imagine how much of an impact that remembering something like this could have... particularly since it didn't sound as if her father was around anymore to provide the answers she so clearly needed. Yeah, he'd been there before, needing answers that didn't exist. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he acknowledged Cait's presumption that her father would have been searching for Saint John, and wondered what Cade might have found, but that could wait.

His voice was soft when he spoke to her. "Cait. Caitlin, hey, look at me for a second." He saw her tremendous strength of will surge to the front as she visibly gathered herself. By the time her eyes met his, her hands had stopped shaking, though her grip on the photograph was just as tight. _I'll have to get her to loosen up a little before she actually manages to do some damage to her hands... or the frame._ There were tears in her eyes, but she wasn't letting them fall, and while there was no lack of confusion in those eyes... she also looked pretty pissed.

"I'm okay, Hawke... utterly furious with Da for trying to protect me when I could have _helped_ him, but okay. I just have a lot of questions with no answers at the moment, pieces of overheard conversations. He talked about 'Alan' a lot, but never mentioned a last name, and I never knew why. And I know he spent quite a bit of time looking for someone who I now suspect is your brother... but he never contacted me about it, and when I asked, I'm pretty darn sure he lied to my face. I was a Marshal, Hawke, with contacts in a lot of places, both high and low. There were questions I could have asked – of trusted sources – with no one bein' the wiser for it. So, yeah, I'm not too happy at the moment... particularly since I'm pretty sure one of the many things he was looking into got him killed. I just don't know which."

"How?"

"Da was a private investigator, Hawke, and very good at what he did. He made friends of local, state and federal law enforcement, but didn't want to join any of them, himself, though he was more than a little proud when I did. He just wanted to work on his own for a while, is all. I _know_ it was something he was workin' on that got him killed, though the coroner disagreed with me. 'Accidental drowning,' he said. Da swam like a fish; water may as well have been his natural element. 'Accidental drowning' my ass."

Hawke reached to take the photo from Cait's hands and took a brief moment to force away an entirely inappropriate thought before taking hold of her shoulders and guiding her to sit on the bed. "You're looking into it?"

"Not as much as I'd like to be. As much as I can, while making sure nobody's going to make the rest of my family miserable for it. Marilyn and my brothers are safe enough, but Eileen's still home with Mom, and they're _not_ practiced in self defense. Da offered, but Eileen wasn't interested. To be fair, Mom didn't really _want_ her to be interested. I think she was afraid Eileen would follow me into law enforcement if Da taught her the same way he did me. I was the first cop in the family, but not the last. Both the boys are in that line of work, too, and doing some quiet checking of their own. We were keeping the Archangel Michael busy there for a while."

Hawke was glad he hadn't been drinking anything or he might have choked on it. "Archangel Michael?"

She gave him a half-smile and kept her answer simple. "Michael the Archangel is the patron of police officers, Hawke... well, all law enforcement officers, actually. I can't imagine he'd make a distinction between local, state and federal."

_You'd be surprised, _he thought, thankfully keeping himself from saying it. "Why did you come here, Cait? Why leave the job in Texas, your mom and sister?"

She shrugged her shoulders, and Hawke saw her flinch. _Okay, so at least one of her shoulders is still giving her a little trouble._ "Couple of reasons. I truly love law enforcement – once a cop, always a cop – but it was different without a team... without even a partner. It was just me and the helo, and I liked that, sometimes, but you saw how well that ended. I'm not like Da, there. I don't like workin' alone. Doesn't mean I _won't_, and doesn't mean I _can't_, just means I don't like it. Highway Patrol wasn't the right place for me, Hawke. That's part of the reason I left. My reasons for coming here, specifically, are a little different."

He let a single raised eyebrow ask the question for him, and managed to coax another smile out of her in the process. "There was always something about you that seemed familiar, Hawke. I wouldn't have let just anybody out of a jail cell, even given that the good sheriff was raising the hair on the back of my neck. I knew he was a son of a bitch, but I didn't know anything about you. You _could_ have been every bit as bad... but somehow, I knew you weren't. Yeah, part of me is interested in that big black battleship with rotors that you like to tell me doesn't exist, because that implies you have contacts I don't, that might help me answer a few questions. Full truth of the matter is, though, that as beautiful as that helo is, I didn't come for her. I came here because of you, because I trusted something about you before I even knew your name, and I wanted to know why."

TBC...


End file.
